


The Point

by maltpowder, maltsyrup (maltpowder)



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Character A Nonverbally Expresses Their Affection for Character B Who is Oblivious, Confessions, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning - character mourns the loss of a loved one, M/M, Shut Up Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-24 08:31:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maltpowder/pseuds/maltpowder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maltpowder/pseuds/maltsyrup
Summary: (Choose Not to Warn is used here because I couldn't decide whether "Major Character Death" was appropriate for a post-canon fic dealing with the aftermath of the canonical death of a major character in which no one dies onscreen, but didn't feel comfortable using "No Archive Warnings Apply" for a fic that is focused on a main character mourning the canonical death, and its lasting emotional impact.)Point: To indicate with a gesture. A unit of value in scoring or grading. Where two lines intersect.





	1. (Finding You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minium/gifts).

> Happy Multifandom Tropefest, minium! This is my first time participating and I had a lot of fun working on this story. Thank you for this chance to dig into the tangle of feelings Hikaru and Akira have about Sai, go, and each other. I hope you like it!

In the immediate aftermath of the Hokuto Cup, Hikaru felt his loss as a void inside of himself. The shape of the emptiness was familiar, cold against his back as it wrapped around his shoulders with the soft but heavy weight of layered silk robes. Hikaru moved from the stage to reunite with his team and the association’s group, he endured through postgame interviews and analysis, and through questions from the association members once his feet carried him numbly to the building lobby where they all stored their things in the usual cubby-holes. He was aware of Akira nearby the whole time, but ashamed at the way Akira stuck to his side patiently, empathetically not saying anything about what a strong and interesting match it was, or how Hikaru’s efforts made a great show, or how the investors would be pleased. Akira gave studied non-answers for Hikaru when he was too choked up to speak clearly, and blocked the cameras from being able to catch a clear focused image of Hikaru’s inability to stop his open weeping. Hikaru felt a distance between them even as Akira did all of this, experiencing the space where Sai should have been as a buffer separating Hikaru from the rest of the world.

When it was over, Hikaru didn’t stop to wash his face, though his tears finally dried up enough so that he could keep them from tumbling past his lashes, down his cheeks, and off of his chin. Akira said, “I’m walking you home,” like Hikaru should have expected it, though he hadn’t asked, and it felt like a relief. Hikaru didn’t want to feel surrounded by empty spaces where people he cared about should be. Hikaru nodded. 

They walked in step, the calm familiarity of Akira’s footsteps were enough, enough distraction and regularity for Hikaru to put himself into a state he could stand to show his mother. She wouldn’t press him, but she would see how he felt even if he didn’t want her to really understand. He decided to laugh off his loss for her, and pretend he wasn’t bothered. He needed time to be able to grin properly. 

Akira asked, “Do you want to play tonight?”  
“Yeah, no,” Hikaru said, working the knot of his tie loose with the fingers and thumb of his left hand. “I’m fried, so maybe 10-second.”  
“Fried,” Akira murmured, watching Hikaru’s gaze go a little glassy as they veered toward the convenience shop between the association building and the park playground by the train station.  
Hikaru ignored the soft smile playing at the edges of Akira’s face. “You want to get snacks on the way?”  
Hikaru took Akira’s pleasant silence as a yes, and lead them into his neighborhood convenience shop. 

Though the auntie behind the counter called their welcome, Hikaru skipped the usual small talk about his family. Without seeming to remember why they went in, Hikaru ignored the shop auntie’s oldest daughter dredging and frying chicken in batches by the order alongside the hot bar, in favor of wandering toward gummies and then to the magazine rack. Akira watched Hikaru’s unfocused browsing for a moment before slipping through the aisles. 

Hikaru lost track of the time he spent flipping through a fashion magazine waiting for Akira to come back from the cold cases. When Akira returned, Hikaru was lingering on a spread of a guy in tailored pants and a top that was some amalgamation of leather motorcycle jacket and open, round-necked silk robe. The fabrics were texturally distinct: sueded leather that structured the yoke of the shoulder and sleeve, and a billowy raw silk that lightened the drape around the body. In his habitual way, talking under his breath and into the empty air over his right shoulder, Hikaru tilted his head to one side and traced one finger over the model’s shoulder as he said, “It’s your color.” 

The daydreamy tone and the lingering way Hikaru touched the image made Akira’s body prickly and warm. He looked more closely. Both fabrics were dyed a shade of lilac so soft it was almost misty. Below the saturated matte of the suede, Akira noticed the delicate tumbling of wisteria blossoms knotted into the weave of the silk in single-color brocade so that the shape of the flowers appeared more like an illusion of light and shadow than an embellishment of the design. Akira cleared his throat and readjusted the drinks he held into the crook of one arm. Hikaru looked up at him and carelessly set the magazine back on the rack, open and slightly rumpled, before he moved toward the counter. As Hikaru handed over a couple hundred yen to the shop auntie in exchange for reading the shop copy, Akira gently smoothed its pages, closed the magazine and tucked it under his arm. He bought two bottles of tea with orange zest as well -- the brand and flavor that Hikaru prefered -- but by the time the book was in Akira’s bag and he’d offered Hikaru a drink, they’d lost sight of the shop. By then, they were strolling past the park along the sidewalk path that led onto Hikaru’s street.

Hikaru said, "You should stay over. I'll loan you something to wear, if you want."  
“Is it really okay that I come by without asking?” Akira wondered, watching Hikaru’s necktie sway where it dangled from Hikaru’s fist. “Shouldn’t we call your mom?”  
“You worry too much,” Hikaru said, his tone of voice chiding even as he reached for Akira’s wrist so they wouldn’t be separated at the crosswalk near the park’s main entrance. “Just come home with me. It’ll be faster, anyway.”  
Akira’s expression was skeptical, but he let Hikaru take hold of his sleeve and pull him along without resistance. As they walked, Akira stared at the cuff of his shirt where it was pinched in Hikaru’s fingers.

* * *

Shindou Mitsuko set down her cooking chopsticks and sighed, closing her eyes and bringing her fingertips to rub at the deepening crease between her brows. With the ease of habit she turned down the heat on the stove so that the broth in the pot eased to a simmer and wiped her hands on the kitchen rag she had slung over her shoulder before shaking out her wrists, readjusting the sleeves of her smock apron. She shifted to look past the table behind her into the hallway, turned and leaned back against the counter between the stove and the sink. She sighed again. The house felt different without the chatter upstairs that worried her so much before. She knew her son well enough to know when he was upset, to know he didn’t want her to nag him about it, that she had to be patient for him to give her the chance to comfort him over his mood swings and his outbursts. She didn’t know _why_ his demeanor had changed so abruptly since the spring. He was growing up so quickly since becoming a pro.

Mitsuko reminded herself she had a meal to finish. She cut an onion into long thin slices with her eyes turned up toward the ceiling. The sting was natural and it would be fine; like the pain of Hikaru’s failures, it would pass after contributing to the flavor of his life. She peeled and slivered a thumb of ginger before adding both pungent ingredients to the broth. She put the lid back on to cover it up, thinking of the shadow that dropped over Hikaru’s expression any time she tried coaxing him to open up. 

At least he didn’t tell her not to show up to watch him play. At least she could say she hadn’t understood the game and left early, instead of admitting she hadn’t had the heart to watch him lose after how completely he had thrown himself into this still-bewildering hobby. At least she didn’t have to tell him that his parents hadn’t believed in his interest in the game or his dedication to it, hadn’t been able to think the changes after his collapse might endure and laughed that he was too wishy-washy to stick with it through difficulties. She felt proud of him for getting back on his feet himself, amazed at the sort of man he was becoming, but was still afraid for her child. Sometimes, a very tiny bit, Mitsuko was able to admit she wasn’t only afraid for Hikaru but in some ways was afraid of him, of that obsessive focus he never used to have and the glimpses of despair she could see affecting him when he’d been skipping his official matches. Was it wrong for her to feel that the sluggish and temperamental, avoidant boy was more like the son she remembered from before? Was it worse for her to have hoped that child would return, seen how awful it was for him, and now be so relieved that he was at least playing, even if it was obviously still difficult for him?

Before she could wonder if his father would scold her for fretting over “teenage moods”, the sound of Hikaru’s voice floated through the closed door along with the jingling of his key-ring. The turn of the lock and Hikaru’s call of, “Home, Ma!” combined in familiar harmony. Mitsuko pushed her apron sleeves up. She wiped her hands, banished the creasing of concern from her expression, and went into the hall with a welcoming smile on her face. The boy who stepped into the entryway wasn’t her Hikaru -- Hikaru was behind him, griping about fatigue and unaware of how clearly his face let Mitsuko know that Hikaru had been crying. Mitsuko’s smile was easy and warm, but her voice trembled as she welcomed them both in. The boy with Hikaru was tall, with a serious face and a calm demeanor that made him seem older. He looked put-together, a calm awareness around him that made Mitsuko wonder if he knew just how rowdy her Hikaru could be, and how much off Hikaru’s impulsiveness might rub off on a clean-cut, serious-looking peer. She recognized him from his picture, and suspected that this was probably the friend at whose place Hikaru spent the night training for the event she knew Hikaru didn’t win.

Hikaru opened his mouth but before he could show off his friend, Akira bowed at the waist, his hair falling forward to frame the quiet respectful expression on his face as he said, “Please pardon my intrusion, ma’am. Shindou insisted he didn’t need to call before inviting me along. I’m a colleague from the Go Association.”

“Colleague?” Hikaru grumbled, recoiling from Akira’s formality, “Say it right, Touya.” Turning to his mother, Hikaru put on his bragging face and nudged Akira in the ribs with his elbow. “He’s my Rival,” Hikaru said through a big toothy grin that reddened his tear-stained cheeks, filling Mitsuko with pride and fear for him at the same time. “_Rival_, Akira, RI-VAL!” Hikaru insisted, drawing out the sounds and swaying to bump Akira’s side again while he wriggled out of his sneakers and stepped up onto the hardwood.

Akira’s neck and ears began to turn pink as he straightened up, the awkward stiffness of his shoulders an obvious response to Hikaru’s teasing. He looked into Mitsuko’s face and blurted out, “We’re good friends.”  
She smiled, “Hikaru stayed with you before, didn’t he? I hope he didn’t cause too much trouble.”  
“Oh, no ma’am. He’s a…” pleasure felt like the wrong word, though he was that too. Akira went with, “Intriguing.”

Akira bent down to untie his laces and follow Hikaru’s lead, stepping out of his neat leather dress shoes and into the hallway. Unlike Hikaru, Akira turned and stooped once he was on the hall step-up, to tuck his shoelaces under the tongues and set the pair to one side, out of the way. Akira righted one of Hikaru’s sneakers from where it rolled onto one side as he shed them, and placed the yellow and black high-tops next to his own shoes. By the time Akira stood up again, Mitsuko decided this friend is a gift, and hoped very much that his considerate nature influenced Hikaru more than Hikaru could roughen up Akira’s good manners. 

Hikaru dropped his keys into the basket on the hallway table next to the telephone. “What’s dinner?”  
Mitsuko smiled even as she realized that Hikaru expected her to feed an extra person. She gave Hikaru a direct look and said, “_Oya-ko_.”*  
“I’m sorry, I should’ve made him call ahead to ask,” Akira said, exactly as Hikaru waved one hand dismissively in front of Akira’s face and drawled, “You always make too much, so it’s okay if he stays, yeah?”  
“You tried,” Hikaru’s mother rolls one shoulder without uncrossing her arms, and shakes her head even as she reassures Akira. Mitsuko knows her son. “Is it too much, if you demolish the leftovers whenever you wake up in the middle of the night? Your friend can stay. You’ll just have to fend for yourself for lunch tomorrow, Hikaru.”  
“Eh,” Hikaru shrugged, “We’ll go to Grandpa’s place for lunch.” It so clearly never occurred to him that his mother might say that Akira couldn’t stay, he forgot to thank her.

Akira felt at a loss, his mouth slightly agape at this exchange, not used to the informal family dynamic and obviously unsure what to do with himself. Mitsuko took pity on him. “Call them now so that your Grandmother knows ravenous teenagers intend to raid her kitchen. Does your friend need to call his parents and let them know he’s staying here?”  
“Nah,” Hikaru said, “they’re going to China.”  
“Actually,” Akira said, “I called and left them a message from the association building, so they wouldn’t be concerned if I didn’t answer the phone at the house when they landed.”

Mitsuko was simultaneously heartened by this boy’s maturity and deeply alarmed at the idea that a fifteen year old had been left to fend for himself again so quickly and as a matter of routine. He couldn’t eat only convenience foods for days on end! She found herself only half-listening to the boys bicker, thinking of what would keep well and reheat easily that she might make Hikaru carry over for Akira in the couple of days.

“You called China from the payphone at work?” Hikaru scoffed, “Who even does that?”  
“I have a phone card,” Akira defended, “you’re just used to not thinking about--”  
“I think all the time! Don’t think you’re better than me just because you’re better than me!” Hikaru knew which of them was the better player (and better-mannered son), but that didn’t mean he was just going to let Akira get all puffed up about it! He was too fun to tease.  
“I didn’t say anything like that! Stop being so childish, I won’t console you just because you’re fishing for compliments.” Akira sighed, but could still hear the edge in his own voice. How was Hikaru so good at distracting him and getting under his skin even away from the go-ban?  
“You’re gonna be the one that needs consoling in a minute,” Hikaru started, whipping out his fan and pointing toward the stairs, where they were definitely going to play the most intense 10-second go that Hikaru could wring out of his brain. He froze when Mitsuko returned her attention to their chatter and she clamped her hand over his shoulder.

“Hikaru,” she said, “Take Touya-kun upstairs and behave like a proper host, will you? I’ll bring up your plates when the food is ready. Your father and I would much rather hear you playing with those stones than yelling.”  
With a sheepish expression, Akira put his fingertips to his lips, immediately shushing. Hikaru groaned, “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” rolling his eyes as he turned toward the stairs, pulling Akira by the elbow.

* * *

In Hikaru’s room, they settled quickly on opposite sides of the wooden board. The quick and steady clicks as they placed their stones smoothed out what had been bubbling into one of their usual spats. Hikaru took a long drink of his orange tea and managed to lose himself in the game, but he was still playing in a bit of a haze-- or at least, it was enough of a haze for Akira to spend some of his energy between moves watching the minute variations in Hikaru’s expressions. He wasn’t so good that he could play against Hikaru at just _any_ time without concentrating, but after their long day and with Akira himself in something close to his top form, it felt right to spend this session really checking in on Hikaru’s headspace more than his technique. Akira couldn’t keep from entertaining the notion that Hikaru was grieving -- and while Hikaru was upset about his loss, it didn’t seem like it was the game he played against Ko that he was so upset over. 

Hikaru used an old joseki. Akira smiled, and as he placed his next stone, he said, “It’s been five months, hasn’t it.”  
Hikaru made his move without looking up from the board, slightly shrugging his left shoulder. “Feels like twice that, at least,” he said, tapping the clock and reaching for his bottle to take a swig of tea. As he swallowed, Hikaru realized that Akira couldn’t mean _since Hikaru lost Sai_, and tried not to cough. He looked up from the board, at last, in time to register the excitement in Akira’s eyes.  
“I hope you’ll be willing to tell me the story, soon,” Akira said, a shyness lilting through his words. “About you and Honinbou Shuusaku.”

Hikaru nearly missed his chance at the turn from blinking, but he managed to place his next stone. “Half a year already, huh,” he said, glancing over his right shoulder as he spoke in his habitual way. When he focused again on the board, Hikaru let another silence stretch out between them as they traded hands and passed time back and forth on the tournament clock. Five months, for a professional player, is a huge amount of time -- time to grow and change and challenge your game, to adapt to new threats and adjust defenses against older ones. Hikaru felt like it had been ages since Sai were there with him and, at the same time, like Sai only just disappeared from where he should still be at the edges of Hikaru’s consciousness. Hikaru realized that Sai was waiting for a chance to play for _one thousand years_, and that he would probably be missing Sai in one way or another for the rest of his life. What a huge amount of time, and pain to process. It had been eight months since Sai had gone and almost six since Hikaru realized Sai might be happier if he returned to play, and Hikaru didn’t feel ready to tell anyone but he felt even less ready to stand at the edge of the future and go through it without anyone understanding. Being the only person who really knew and understood about Sai felt like a weight placed on Hikaru’s chest that would crush him if he had to carry it alone. Hikaru knew he might never stop mourning.

Hikaru’s timer rang. He tried to pass it off as being tired, but Akira knew that what he said had thrown Hikaru. They started to bicker over whether Akira would believe Hikaru or not -- it wasn’t like Akira was a fool about Hikaru’s sometimes-deceitful, manipulative streak. Mitsuko cleared her throat so they would hear her coming along the upstairs hallway and _cut it out_ to focus on the meal she brought them. Once the boys set the board aside to eat, the argument passed. The speed-match they played afterwards was more focused than the first, cleared the air between them with the challenge. It wasn't long until the room’s atmosphere cleared up again, after they finished their game and gone over which moves were most interesting, Hikaru unleashed a huge yawn.

They broke to get ready for bed, used the bath before Hikaru’s father came home late from an after-work event, and set their alarms. Akira was sitting on the spare futon Hikaru’s mom helped them set up, partly tucked in though he was sitting with his knees tucked under him and the rumpled magazine from the convenience store open across his lap. Hikaru didn’t want to sleep before Akira, so he turned out the light, scratched his stomach under the hem of his sweatshirt, and said, “You’d better get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll play a handicap match with Grandpa.” 

Akira sighed, but there was still enough light from the open window to look at the pictures by, so he stretched out under his blankets and rolled onto his stomach, moving the magazine so that his pillow propped it up. Even though Hikaru was obviously trying to stay awake until Akira was asleep, Akira could hear Hikaru’s breathing change and then startle as he drifted out of and then jolted back into wakefulness. Hikaru kept looking at Akira when he woke back up. After a short while considering the moonlight’s reflection on glossy pages and the stubbornness keeping Hikaru from taking his own advice to rest up, Akira set the magazine under his bag and settled in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oya-ko or oyakodon is a dish served over rice made with onion, chicken, and egg cooked in seasoned broth. Its name is literally translated as "parent and child." I thought this was funny.


	2. (Finding It)

Hikaru doesn’t rest well. He can’t tell whether the Sai he meets while dreaming is the same Sai who lives on inside of him, or whether the Sai haunting him is really the same Sai that he knew. Sai points to a board in the dream, at the star. He smiles. He lifts stones in his ghost’s hands and holds them, he breathes in the scent of the go-ban. He can’t stay in one place. He cries.  
Sai doesn’t seem to have a place to rest. He fades too quickly, while Hikaru is begging him to stay, even with Hikaru clutching at his dissipating robes. 

Hikaru wakes up in a cold sweat, whimpering, fists white-knuckled in his sheets, and launches out of bed. He’s careful to sneak past Akira. He pauses after slipping out of the bedroom, listens for the sounds of breathing against the door on the opposite side of the upstairs hallway. He peeks in on his parents. _They're still there, see? Nobody else vanished in your sleep._ He breathes.

Hikaru nearly faints when he gets back to his own bedroom and Akira’s futon is empty. Hikaru is too stunned to hear the soft touch of footsteps coming up the stairs. When Akira appears behind Hikaru with two steaming cups on a small tray, Hikaru actually has to touch him to be certain he’s real. Hikaru’s grip is clammy and firm around Akira’s wrist. Hikaru’s need for physical closeness surprises them both.  
It doesn’t help Hikaru feel less of the emptiness at his back, but it does help. Hikaru tries to play off his distress. He doesn’t want to be so visible, either emotionally or as someone who didn’t let Sai play, who stood between Akira and Sai as well as Sai and his go. He's still terrified the people most important to him could disappear at any moment. 

Hikaru manages to settle down enough to go to sleep, but only sitting on the futon on the floor with Akira next to him. Akira’s hand on his back is enough to hold Hikaru’s thundering heart inside of his ribcage.

* * *

In the morning, after lying for a long while with his eyes closed waiting for Hikaru’s breathing pattern to sound ready, Akira suggested they go and do something that isn’t go before lunch at Hikaru’s grandparents’ house. Akira realized, “We haven’t ever really done much of anything other than go together.”  
“Touya, you do not-go things?” Hikaru said sleepily against Akira’s shoulder.  
Akira gave a mild little shrug and said, "I like clothes."  
Hikaru scoffed at Akira, but he liked the idea of checking out some new sneakers. “So we’ll go to the mall,” he said, and rolled off of the futon and out of Akira’s reach to stand. Hikaru didn’t seem to notice the patience in Akira’s silence, as he complained about body aches and mornings while they get dressed for the day.

The mall itself was technically along the way to Hikaru’s grandparents’ place, so they cut through it to browse. They passed the glass doors of the brand shop where the jacket from the previous night’s magazine spread was on display. In person, the floral pattern in the single-color brocade was more impressive, and they both lingered in front of it for a while, taking in details they wouldn’t be able to see if they weren’t so close. 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t use his pro-money on it, but Hikaru wasn’t able to imagine dropping that kind of cash on anything but shoes. No matter how much it reminded him of Sai, he couldn’t imagine wearing it himself. It really was Akira’s color, striking against the shades in his eyes and his hair, too. Seeing it in person next to Akira made Hikaru certain that Akira would have been a better model for it than whoever the brand chose for the ad. It just looked perfect for him. Hikaru said so, irrationally irritated by the brand’s failure to see the obvious. 

Akira’s face warmed, still examining the textures of the coat when Hikaru began to wander off to investigate the giant chunky yellow, neon yellow and gold sneakers that he wanted from a different shop. A little guiltily, Akira told Hikaru to go ahead without him. Akira watched Hikaru duck into the shop and stand on line by a sign that read, _Limited Edition Purchasers Only_. 

Akira quickly went in and bought the jacket, tucked the package into his bag, and caught up with Hikaru with his cheeks bright. While waiting in line, Akira flipped through a brochure about cell phones that a promoter shoved into his hands, explaining when Hikaru asked that he was thinking about whether or not his parents would use them to keep in touch while overseas. Soon enough, Hikaru had a pair of basketball shoes in a box in a bag dangling from his wrist, though the retail therapy doesn’t seem to have gone very far for his low-energy mood. 

As they walked to his grandparents’ house, Hikaru waffled over what he wanted to do when they got there, until he decided that yes, showing off Akira to his grandparents would be a relatively small drain on the attention he’d rather they all pay to him -- and more importantly, that showing off Sai’s board to Akira was something Hikaru needed to do _that day_. Sitting with the loss of a game didn’t halfway compare with the way losing Sai had been sapping Hikaru’s emotional energy, and as for the go board, Hikaru has had second thoughts about telling his grandpa it could stay in the shed. Hikaru hoped his grandpa might offer it to him again if he pulled it out after their meal.

Hikaru’s grandfather greeted them at the door to the place by sweeping dust out of the entryway and right into Hikaru’s face. Hikaru coughed and gasped while his grandfather dropped his broom and stumbled out of his slippers in his excitement to make a fuss over _"TouyAkira!_" as the he yelled with surprise and delight. Akira spent a busy few moments torn between politely attending to the owner of the house he was being welcomed into and fretfully rubbing Hikaru’s back until Hikaru could catch his breath.

During lunch over his grandmother’s meticulously-packed bento boxes, Hikaru lazily sat back and ate rice balls stuffed with baked fish and enjoyed watching Akira entertain his grandpa’s questions about play and growing up with Touya Meijin and learning from his clinic. Luckily for Akira, grandpa had about a hundred variations on opening moves to discuss instead of getting mired in talk about Akira’s father. When it was Hikaru’s turn to play, Akira watched Hikaru’s expression change in shifts of uncertainty and frustration and sorrow, despite his having an easy time playing even with his handicap. Akira could see that Hikaru’s grandpa noticed it too. 

As they started clearing up the stones at the end of the game, Grandpa squints at Hikaru with a lean grin and asks, “Are you sure about that old board staying in the shed after all, Hikaru?”

Akira was relieved to see Hikaru perk up readily. “I’m gonna show it off,” Hikaru said, and scrambled out into the yard without seeing Akira’s curious smile.  
Hikaru called for Akira to come up the ladder after him, while grandpa helps grandma tidy up the remains of their lunch. Even in the dark light of the shed, Akira could tell immediately that the board was very old and of a high quality. The sight of it made him itch to play a match on it with Hikaru. “This,” Akira said, fingers brushing a corner of the wood, “has to be at least a hundred. It could be on display.”  
“Right?” Hikaru said, the warmth in his voice slightly cut through with a little embarrassment. “It’s got a story, too. This thing’s the reason I started playing. I came up here looking for something nice to pawn and --”  
“You _didn’t_,” Akira blurted out, his voice more firm and disapproving than either of them expected.  
Hikaru sucked his teeth and crossed his arms. “Of course I didn’t! Why do you always think I’m--”  
“I’m not always,” Akira said in protest.  
“I’m _trying_ to tell you a story,” Hikaru said, “Do you want to hear it or not?”  
“Fine,” Akira said. Containing his frustration was challenging. Of course he wanted to hear the story, but Hikaru was likely to stop telling it entirely if Akira said just how much he wanted to hear it with this timing.

Hikaru hemmed and hawed, but really he was pleased to have Akira watching him and waiting for his decision. “Anyway,” Hikaru said, “Like I was saying, I came up here looking for stuff. It was the afternoon, but there was a thunderstorm so it was dark, and when I saw it…” Hikaru checked Akira’s face for an appropriate level of anticipation, and clapped his hands together as loud as he could. Akira flinched as the sound reverberated around the small loft space.

“There was a flash of lightning!” Hikaru laughed. “I collapsed, fainted, out cold. I wasn’t struck or anything,” he said, looking back down at the board. “But I was _out_. After I woke up and the doctors told my parents they couldn’t find anything wrong with me, Grandpa told me this thing was-- I mean, is supposed to be-- haunted.”

Akira stared. Hikaru shoved one hand through his hair, guiding it back off of his face, and shrugged. “I thought, nobody my age would want to play that kind of game. I didn’t know anything about go back then, but if it hadn’t been for this board,” Hikaru said, “I probably wouldn’t have met you.” 

Akira looked from Hikaru down to the board and back again. Cautiously, he said, “I should thank the board. Would you be willing to play a match on it? I’d like to.”

Hikaru went still for a while, considered the face of the board and how long it must have been since _anyone_ played a game or even placed stones on its surface. He nodded. Together, they got it down the loft ladder. Once they were back on the grass and in the sun, Hikaru promised, “We can play on it later tonight, if you help me carry it back.”

Grandpa said, “Hey now,” and ruffled Hikaru’s hair. “Try to be a little less shameful about bullying the nice kids.” Hikaru flustered and lifted the board himself. Akira ended up taking their bags, and Hikaru carried the board the whole way home. 

Holding it against his chest felt good.

* * *

They were greeted with the scent of incense. From the entryway where they left their shoes, Hikaru led Akira into the living room. Hikaru almost never spent any time in this room of the house used mostly for entertaining his father’s business colleagues or members of his mother’s neighborhood friend group. The family’s _butsudan_ took up a portion of the eastern wall with its large shelves. The altar doors were open while the incense burned in a small bronze bowl shaped like a flower. Hikaru thought of Sai, restless in his dreams, and the space the old go board would take up if he placed it on one of the shelves for his ancestors. His parents wouldn’t _get it_, but Hikaru was already in love with the idea. If not here, then in the future when Hikaru had his own place and his own altar for the small gods and spirits who really meant something to him. Hikaru shifted the board in his arms, turned back to Akira and said, “Let’s order ramen tonight.”

Once the order was placed and they were settled upstairs in Hikaru’s bedroom again, Hikaru placed the old board next to his usual one, and used a dustrag to clean it properly. Playing with Akira on the board that evening, Hikaru’s game was better than the night before, but his emotions still hadn’t settled. Akira was delighted to draw Hikaru out of himself a bit, but could still tell he was distracted. When their match finished with Hikaru’s resignation, Akira bowed low over the boardface and said, “Thank you very much.”  
It hadn’t felt like an official match, but it was at least as important to both of them, even if Hikaru hadn’t been able to play his very best. 

That night, Hikaru fell asleep first.

* * *

Again, Hikaru dreams of Sai. He welcomes the dream this time. He longs for Sai’s advice and to brag about his skill to others, to brag about his proximity to Sai and have it understood. In the dream, Hikaru _knows_ that Sai is speaking about go and telling Hikaru that he is loved, that this ghost haunting him isn’t a vengeful or even regretful one. Hikaru feels what must be Sai’s intensity of longing for play and for life, and for an end to loneliness, but he can only _see_ Sai’s mouth forming the words without any sound. Sai looks past Hikaru, over his right shoulder, to the spot where Sai himself is still supposed to be even in dreams, and when Hikaru turns to see if Sai is there as well, he sees Akira’s face.

Even though there can’t be any way to hear Sai, Akira’s attention is fierce where it’s directed at him, and though he wears a serious expression, he nods at Sai’s words as though he understands every one of them. Though it’s a dream, and Hikaru is in it with two of the people who are most important to him in this moment, Hikaru feels a surge of miserable jealousy. He feels like he’s falling away from Sai and Akira, unable to work his way back to them. It feels like he’s losing them both.

Hikaru hasn’t slept through the night without waking since Sai vanished. He’s shaking as he climbs out of his bed and around the futon on the floor. This time he goes directly to the bathroom and sinks to the floor with his back against the door. He squeezes his eyes closed as hard as he can, until white motes like snowflakes or fireflies swirl in his vision. It takes a while for Hikaru to be able to breathe without his body shaking. He stands up and dry heaves once before bending over the sink and pressing his forehead to the cold surface of the porcelain. When he’s ready, Hikaru stares into the mirror and watches the color return to his face. He decides to tell Akira the story -- the truth -- or at least as much of it as he can put into words. 

Back at the threshold to his own room, Hikaru takes a moment to listen outside of the door. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Akira clears his throat from behind Hikaru’s right shoulder.  
Spinning around, Hikaru nearly knocks the tray out of Akira’s hands. There’s real desperation in his voice as Hikaru says, “Don’t disappear on me again! I don’t need tea, I need you around!”  
To cover his own embarrassment, Hikaru jerks his chin toward the stairs and says, “Let’s get some air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A butsudan is a piece of furniture that houses the altar and shrine many Japanese Buddhist families keep as part of their religious practice. Butsudan usually have multiple shelves for different items of spiritual significance, such as a scroll of calligraphy or a statue. They come in a variety of sizes, but some are quite large. When the doors are open, items of ritual use including an incense burner and any offerings (such as a bowl of rice) are placed upon the altar for the kami and ancestors who stay there to protect and observe the home.


	3. (Finding Us)

Outside, on the back porch with his back against the wall of the house, Hikaru looked at the stars and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Akira didn’t immediately recognize the startle of nervous laughter as his own voice. “Be serious!” he said, but his wavering tone suggested to Hikaru that Akira might actually be afraid of ghost stories. Akira stepped out onto the porch, closing the sliding glass behind them as he pulled the new jacket on over his pajama shirt. The softness of suede and uneven sheen of raw silk soaked up and reflected the moonlight. The pale shade, limned in silver light, emphasized the rosiness of Akira’s cheeks from the chill night air, and how it intensified when he realized how he sounded and became self-conscious.

“I _am_ serious, I’ve been serious about you for a long time,” Hikaru said too easily, “even when you thought I was messing around!”

Akira didn’t need to remind himself how intensely he wanted to know what Hikaru was probably trying to say, so he just stood there and let the sounds of the autumn evening fill the time.  
Hikaru chewed on his lower lip, looking from the moon to the grass of the yard. Hikaru didn’t look up when he broke the quiet moment between them. “I really am serious, Touya,” he said. “For a long time, I was acting kind of, I don’t know, possessed? But it was just me being a thoughtless little kid.”

Akira felt his brow begin to crease, and bit down lightly on his tongue to keep himself from interrupting to argue (or worse, agree). He couldn’t see Hikaru’s face clearly, with the way he’d turned his head toward the ground. Hikaru’s lashes cast a long shadow down his cheek under the porch light. 

He sighed, “I was really scared, I guess. I had fun learning from him and playing with him, but I was-- ugh, I was so selfish. And I didn’t want you to decide I wasn’t interesting anymore, if you found out. I thought he’d be around forever, then, too. I’m not, I’m not anymore -- possessed, er, haunted or anything. So I can’t like, prove anything, but for a while…” 

Shaking his head, Hikaru finally raised his face back up, blinking wetness from the edges of his eyes. “He said he possessed Shuusaku, too, to play. I didn’t know how amazing he was, but now, now I _do_, I feel like the _worst_ student he could have wound up with. He should have gotten to play every time he wanted, I mean, he could touch so many players through the face of that board.”

Akira was very still and serious as he listened, taking in and processing everything Hikaru told him. “So that was Sai,” he said, making Hikaru’s whole body sing and ache at the same time. Of course, Akira was the one who could see him even after the bloodstain on the go-ban had vanished. Akira had felt Hikaru’s newness to go and Sai’s long experience intermingled when they first sat down across from one another to play.

“Yeah,” Hikaru said, his voice thick with emotion. Akira knew Sai, too, and at least for this moment, Hikaru wasn’t alone with his grief. That meant that Hikaru couldn’t contain his grief. He took a step forward away from the wall, out of the circle of the porch light and its hovering congregation of moths to hide in the darkness and turn his face up to the sky. At first he cried silently, his teeth chattering from the way sorrow contorted his mouth. When he couldn’t keep sound from escaping with his exhalations Hikaru began to groan and bent over at the waist, wrapping his arms around his chest to try and contain these feelings within his ribs.

Akira was rigid, watching bubbly, hot-headed Hikaru-- practically the sun at the center of his universe-- double over from the pain he’d been trying to ignore. Akira reached for Hikaru, gripped by the new awareness of just how much Hikaru had hidden himself from everyone at the Association, and his family, and his friends. Hikaru pulled away to draw in a long gasping breath, and stood upright. Though tears were still flowing down his cheeks, Hikaru steadied himself again by looking up and away from Akira’s concerned face.

Laid over Hikaru’s blurry view of the sky above them, somehow clear despite his tears, was Sai’s face. Hikaru had to ground himself in his body -- he was in this particular point in time, in this place with Akira in the waking world-- so Hikaru stepped backwards until his shoulders bumped against the texture of the house's outside wall. Even with the night air rustling across the lawn, Hikaru heard Sai's voice in the usual place just behind him.

_"The territory we occupy and call now is a single moku on the board of the gods. Each stone they lay through us dictates the following one, and thus the game itself lives longer than any human player, and so the game itself can grow and change. Each move necessitates the next, and so the Hand of God is found again, and again. The point is to play; to play is the point! When you can play happily together every day with an opponent you respect, you must play with them,"_ Sai's voice explained, as Hikaru envisioned Sai's drowned-purple lips forming the words he hadn't comprehended in his dream. _"The Hand of God depends on you and your opponent both playing at the edges of your limits, exploring possible moves, and deciding to step beyond limits together, Hikaru."_

Hikaru shuddered and rubbed the heels of his hands over his face. He _finally_ looked at Akira again. He twitched his shoulders in a miserable shrug. “Touya, I… I saw how disappointed you were to play me instead of him, back in school. I wanted you to be interested in _me_ and I was, I’m _still_ insecure about whether you’re interested in me or… or if you’ll stop wanting to play with me when you see I don’t have him here with me anymore.”

Akira blinked, his eyes riveted on Hikaru but also more distant than Hikaru thought he could stand. Akira said, “Back when we first met I thought you were toying with me.”  
Hikaru sniffed and admitted, “I sort of was.” He couldn’t muster the energy to argue that point.  
Akira said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”  
Hikaru shook his head. “You were thinking about him though, Touya, and I wanted you to be thinking of me. I know it wasn’t fair, to take that game from you, like. Just. Look at me! Touya, I’m not like that anymore. I never want to force you to sit across from me!” Hikaru could see that Akira had something to say, but he kept talking. “And, I still want you to look at me, but I want you to see him too when we play, it was the worst when I thought nobody would know he was missing but me. And then you said you could tell about me and, and Shuusaku, it really meant a lot to me.”

“I had to get better, too,” Hikaru continued, “I couldn’t tell you until I was, until I thought I could be a good rival, like really worthy of you and--” a bubble of wild laughter— “I’ll keep chasing you,” Hikaru said.  
Hikaru had invoked some spell casting too many feelings into Akira’s heart. Akira clenched his hand into a fist at his side. He clutched his chest and struggled against the heat in his eyes and on his face, forcing himself to breathe in.  
Hikaru’s expression was frozen in dismay. “Touya,” he said in a high trembling whisper. “Touya?”

“Shindou.” Akira’s voice was like the scrape of the kitchen knife over its whetstone. “You really want that? _More_ of my attention?” Obsession, it had been total obsession and still was, even with an impossible story that felt right. Akira’s chest burned with a pitiful longing for the lightness to return to Hikaru’s bearing. Approaching like a wolf, Akira pinned Hikaru with his gaze and bared his fangs, pressing forward to close the distance between them. Akira’s intensity made his gaze sharp and his words sticky. “You want me to let loose… focused entirely on you?”

Hikaru looked down with the same shame he had worn after he interrupted Akira’s match with Sai and took it from them, and made all three of them suffer the loss. He shuffled his feet a little, blurting out another jumble of ramblingly upsetting words. “Akira, I—,” Hikaru shook himself and forced himself to meet Akira’s eyes as he said, “If you want to hit me, I get it! I’m selfish, I’m impulsive, and my go is like that too but I’ll still try to catch up to you-- but if you never want to see me again I understand, so, just, take out all your anger and—“

Akira put his mouth over Hikaru’s, cutting off his train of thought and the mess he was in the middle of saying. The kiss was like Akira’s moves on the board-- assertive and controlled, making claim to contested territory.

“What is wrong with you?! If I want to hit you? What do you think of me,” Akira broke the kiss to demand.  
“I don’t know,” Hikaru said, looking at Akira’s furrowed brow, and kept talking. “You’re where I’m going!”  
“My ghost,” he said, really feeling the words in his mouth, “_Sai_ once told me he thought there was a sort of line between us, like we’re two stones, and the number of moku between us keeps shifting. That you and I pull and push each other forward. I know you’re like that for me, and it makes me crazy thinking about how I want to catch up to you. I’ve always wanted you to be that intense about me.”

Hikaru only really heard now much it sounded like a confession of love once it was out of his mouth, and only once he realized it _was_ a confession of something like that did his brain finally process that before he said all of those words, Akira had moved into his space and pinned him against the wall and actually just kissed him.

“You want me to_ stop_ holding myself together?” Akira’s breath tickled Hikaru’s cheek as he struggled to contain himself. “To really focus on you, even more than I already do?”

Hikaru felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he swallowed hard. “Uh-huh,” he said, and dipped his chin down and back once. That small nod was all he could manage, with each of Akira’s palms coming to rest on either side of Hikaru against the wall. Akira trembled, feeling weak through his elbows as he tipped his face down into the crook of Hikaru’s neck and shoulder. He breathed in slowly, held himself perfectly still for one moment, and exhaled as he leaned back to look into Hikaru’s face. Hikaru was flushed from the rush of vulnerability. Akira felt the impulse to kiss him again as they shared the same breath, so he did.

Hikaru clutched the heavy softness of Akira’s jacket in both fists at the side-seams, anchoring them both. Akira tasted Hikaru’s mouth, rewarded for his bold opening with the considered mirroring of his movements. When Hikaru tipped his head back to breathe, he was grinning. Akira’s returning smile was small, an intensely private satisfaction he shared with Hikaru through the electric crackle of eye contact.

“Shindou,” Akira promised, “I won’t let you forget you said that.”


End file.
